Title: Knits and Fits (a.k.a. Stitch and Bitch)
Rating: PG
Summary: Emerson's day off does not go quite as he had planned.
Disclaimer: All characters and settings do not belong to me, but are the property of Bryan Fuller and ABC.
Knits and Fits
It was a blissful, work-free Wednesday afternoon, yet Emerson Cod was still quite the busy man, having been employed in his office by a number of activities: polishing off a take-out box of pork buns from the dim sum restaurant downstairs; knitting a pair of arm warmers based on a pattern featured in the latest issue of Knit Wit Magazine; and finally, playing host to an irritated yet ever so talkative Olive Snook. Some people, particularly an American rock musician who took his stage name from a dinnertime staple (in certain households, that is) yet still managed to become rather popular in the 1970s, would suggest that two out of three wasn't bad. Emerson was not one of people. (His reasoning was simple: two out of three was in fact roughly 67 percent, and thus too close to a failing grade for his liking.)
To make matters worse, Olive was pacing back and forth and blathering on about the latest adventures of Ned and Chuck, Emerson's least favorite topic of discussion.
"I guess it's not really considered PDA since they don't ever kiss, or even touch for that matter, but jumping Jehoshaphat," she cried, "not even a blind man could stand to be in their presence without wanting to throw up a little!" She even stuck her tongue out to the side of her mouth in order to emphasize said nausea.
Emerson had to agree with the sentiment; he found watching Pie Boy and Dead Girl do their not-so-dirty dancing to be on the sickening side. But it was one thing to see them make googly eyes at each other while working on a case. Now he had to sit there and listen to Olive give him a play-by-play commentary on scenes he would have otherwise happily missed? This would not stand.
"Olive," he began in the politest tone he could manage, one that he had begun employing more frequently now that Olive had been upgraded from merely his pie server to Itty Bitty, junior P.I. His efforts went unnoticed.
"Ned of all people should know that when customers come into The Pie Hole, they expect a homey, family-friendly atmosphere. Let me tell you, what the two of them do is so not family-friendly." She added with a wistful sigh, "I'll never be able to look at plastic wrap the same way again."
"Neither will I," Emerson muttered. "Now, Olive—"
"Is it too much to ask for your workday to not start off with your boss, who also happens to be the object of your unrequited affection, blatantly showing off his relationship with his dead but not really dead girlfriend who has a near-fatal allergy to him, which I might add is a total waste because, I mean, if you can't touch the guy without keeling over, have the common courtesy to step aside for those who can!"
She finally paused her tirade, and whether it was to catch her breath, or to let him offer his thoughts on the matter, Emerson didn't care. He used the respite to give Olive a piece of his mind.
"Is it too much to ask for you not to come here on my day off and interrupt my quality knitting time? I know you got a lot of things on your mind that you'd like to air out, but Ned's not paying you to air them during business hours, and the 'Emerson and Olive Stitch 'n Bitch Hour' ain't part of my regularly scheduled programming, either, so I can't think of a reason for you to be here. Now, I kindly suggest you turn yo' ass around and walk back out that door."
Emerson's words were harsh and direct, but he knew that it had to be done and consequently prepared himself for the worst: a hurt expression, a trembling lower lip, maybe even a few tears. But to his surprise, Olive simply scrunched her nose in incredulity. "Really? That's what you do on your day off, knit?"
This was not the first, nor would it be the last, time Emerson found a person of the opposite sex to be most confounding. But he was not going to let Olive know that. "What I do on my day off ain't none of your damn business," he said dismissively.
Olive grinned for the first time that afternoon. "You're just a barrelful of surprises, aren't you?" When he didn't reply, she prodded him as to what he had been working on.
"A pair of arm warmers, if you must know."
"Can I see them?"
A voice in Emerson's head told him that he would come to regret his next move, but nevertheless he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a half-finished arm warmer, along with the knitting needles and the skein of yarn to which it was attached.
"Wow, that's really nice," Olive cooed as she ran her fingers along the arm warmer's braided pattern. "I wish I knew how to knit."
Emerson's curt reply to this was, "Go buy a knitting book."
Olive shook her head. "That won't do any good. Me trying to learn from one of those things is like baking a pie with an onion and some sawdust. I learn better from example." Her face visibly lit up just then, and if you looked closely enough, you just might have be able to see the cogs in her brain whirling at top speed. "Say..."
"Oh, no," Emerson exclaimed. He could see where this was leading, and he didn't like it one bit.
"Oh, please, Emerson! I've always wanted to learn! My grandma tried to teach me when I was a little girl, but she stopped when I tried to stab her cat with one of the needles." She paused before adding, "It was a mean cat."
"Not a chance, Olive. You're not turning my kicking you out into an invitation to come by more often."
"Okay, fine," she said, undeterred. "Think about it this way: Which would you prefer, me talking on and on and on and on and on and on" (Emerson suspected that she repeated this as many times as she did in order to drive her point home, though this realization did not make it any less tedious to listen to) "about Ned and Chuck, or me knitting and purling quietly like a good little apprentice?"
Emerson frowned. "Don't tell me you're trying to use blackmail on me." His voice was a stern one, one that would let all persons, including young children who had not yet mastered speech, know that he was not to be crossed.
Olive then blurted out what she regarded to be a sure-fire response: "I'll pay you!"
With those three words came the power to transform the deep scowl on Emerson's face into a wide grin. "Is tomorrow good for you?" He asked this in the same cheerful manner he used whenever money changed from his customers' hands to his own.
"Tomorrow would be perfect! Oh, thank you, Emerson!" Olive squealed with glee. "I swear, I'm going to knit you the greatest sweater vest you've ever seen as a token of my appreciation. You know, once I learn how to do it."
"I'm sure you will," he assured her. "Now, isn't it time for you to get back to work? Pie isn't going to serve itself, you know." There was now a slight cloying quality in his voice, but it went unnoticed by Olive.
"Yeah, it probably is time." Her reluctance to leave was evident, but she brightened again when she thought of her upcoming first lesson. "So, tomorrow is it. Oh, it's going to be a hoot!" she declared before turning around and walking out the door.
This left Emerson alone in his office, and to his own devices once again. But instead of returning to his arm warmers, he simply sat back in his chair and began making a mental checklist of which patterns and stitches he would introduce Olive to the following day.